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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597650">Miss and Meg</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/darndungeon/pseuds/darndungeon'>darndungeon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Denial, Eldritch Hallucinations, F/F, Fluffy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor End Game Spoilers, alcohol consumption, rivals to friends, unspoken feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:28:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/darndungeon/pseuds/darndungeon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Missandei, the Arbalest as they called her, walked drowsily into their moonlit room, late at night, as silently and stealthy as a drunken person could manage. As if to not disturb Margaret’s slumber. The maneuver failed as “Miss” (as Margaret used to jokingly call her, a jab at her accuracy) stumbled over Margaret’s sturdy boots for the millionth time. One would think an upper class musketeer would keep her possessions neatly ordered rather than all over the place like Margaret did, but Margaret had never been a usual musketeer, had she?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arbalest/Musketeer (Darkest Dungeon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Miss and Meg</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you @Carpe_Natem and @wyrd_eater for beta reading and editing this one! I owe you the world! Can you all believe there wasn't a tag for this ship yet? Dedicated to all Missandei/Margaret shippers out there, wherever you're hiding. Let me know your thoughts afterwards :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Missandei, <em> the Arbalest </em>as they called her, walked drowsily into their moonlit room, late at night, as silently and stealthy as a drunken person could manage. As if to not disturb Margaret’s slumber. The maneuver failed as “Miss” (as Margaret used to jokingly call her, a jab at her accuracy) stumbled over Margaret’s sturdy boots for the millionth time. One would think an upper class musketeer would keep her possessions neatly ordered rather than all over the place like Margaret did, but Margaret had never been a usual musketeer, had she? Miss cursed as she fell to the floor like a rotten tree, and cursed as she clumsily stood up. She looked down to her roommate’s bed and saw Margaret’s staring at her, expressionless as of lately.</p><p>“I’m not going to complain about the mess again Meg, if that’s what you’re thinking…” Miss mumbled, trying to shake the stars out of her blurred vision. “You wanna leave everything all around, fine by me, I won’t touch your stuff anymore.” Silence. She should be used to it by now, but it still hurt. Miss chewed on the inside of her lip, averting her gaze from her friend. Friend, huh… who would guess they’d ever refer to each other like that.</p><p>Miss dropped on her own bed, sinking her face into the fluffy pillow, head heavy from the booze, old memories playing in the back of her mind once again. The two of them had arrived at this Hamlet in the same week. Miss will never forget the oddness of sharing a stagecoach with someone as posh as her. The redhead’s fancy plumed hat alone had looked like it could be worth Missandei’s entire savings-- not that she had had much to begin with. What was someone such as her doing seeking work in a place like this? And how <em> dare </em>the other woman specialize in long range like her? Luckily the Heir had hired them both, but that hadn’t stopped Missandei from seeing her as a rival. And Margaret, being a competitive sportswoman, had accepted the challenge.</p><p>“Don’t forget we’re even, you cocky mercenary...” The Arbalest murmured, suddenly recalling their score, voice muffled by the feathery pillow. 30 to 30. She chuckled next. <em> Mercenary.</em> Margaret had used to <em> hate </em>being reminded of what she had turned into, no longer a noble championed markswoman but rather a lowly mercenary, a soldier working on a contract. Just like Missandei. She had grown used to it in time though, as she had proved her worth as a good mercenary. Both of them stood on even ground, as they had often been told.</p><p>“You still owe me my last victory, don’t you think I forgot...” Miss slurred, turning over to face her friend, who didn’t say a word. That didn’t stop Miss’ drunken babble, it never did. As tradition dictated, the loser of their weekly target competitions always had to pay the winner a round of drinks. They always liked to wait for their next expedition, since the Heir would always finance all stress relief activities once they came back. It’s the least he could do, judging by how broken some of them returned, if they were lucky to return at all. </p><p>“Don’t worry, the Heir will cover it.” Miss added bitterly, dismissively waving her hand in sluggish motions. Surprising as it was, Margaret was just as broke as Missandei money-wise, and in that, Miss had been quick to judge. She half regretted calling her fancy-pants all those times. The offended look on the redheaded’s face still put a smile on Miss though... It was too easy to get under her skin. Her gorgeous, freckled, pale skin. </p><p>For a moment, Miss’ eyes wandered around Margaret’s face, almond brown locking into slanted green. How many times had she caught Meg’s stare on her? She lost count by now. Margaret’s eyes, keen eyes who always seemed to see more than most. Eyes that would sometimes display a deep unsettling fear, just for it to be gone the next second. The Musketeer had always been weird like that…</p><p>
  <em> “It watches me.” </em>
</p><p>Missandei swallowed dry. She averted her gaze, feeling her guts churn at the not so distant memory. Margaret had recently confided in her that she sometimes saw <em> things</em>. Abnormal things, disgusting deformed flesh where there should be none, filled with inhuman beady eyes that popped and stared at her for a slice of a second. Gone as soon as it showed up, quick enough for her to doubt her own sanity. It was a rare occurrence, and in time she learned to disguise when it happened, but it cost her everything of her old life.</p><p><em> “I know it sounds insane… but I feel like it can see me… whatever </em> <b> <em>it </em> </b> <em> is.” </em></p><p>The Arbalest shut her eyes, a sudden pang in her chest. She’ll never forget the look on the Musketeer’s face when she had shared this confession. The usually imposing woman had looked so vulnerable in the dim light of their room, sharp eyes frightened for some reason, as if she never shared this with anyone, as if she was afraid Miss wouldn’t believe her, would dismiss her as a lunatic. But if Miss had learned something about Meg through all these months was that she did not lie. Miss had asked if she could do anything to help, and to that, Meg’s expression had slowly softened. </p><p>She said Miss helped just by being there by her side.</p><p>“Meg, Meg...when did you start to mean the world to me?...” Miss wasn’t sure whether she said that last bit aloud, but she couldn’t care less. The alcohol made her more careless, more honest… It also aided her slumber, her body finally relaxing. It was the only way she could sleep now. She tried to recall when exactly they had shifted from rivals to friends to whatever they became, but the memories shuffled and danced behind her closed lids. Not that they ever turned into anything more than good friends, but still…</p><p>“I wish I could have been there for you...” The Arbalest mumbled in her drunken stupor, throat constricting. <em> By her side. </em>They were never put into an expedition together-- too redundant, the Heir would say. Wasn’t it funny? How those two completely different women of opposite backgrounds could act the same on the battlefield? The noble, tall, frail and (in all honesty) messy as hell Musketeer should not share the same skills as the sturdy, battle worthy and organized Arbalest. But she did, and she held her own just as fine. </p><p>At least up until the last time.</p><p>Margaret’s party had failed miserably, and they had been forced to flee to avoid a bigger disaster. They had come back from the Darkest Dungeon without her. Did she heroically volunteer to stay behind, to buy them time? Was she chosen as a sacrifice, being the weakest link? Was she scared when they left? Missandei didn’t know. </p><p>She hadn’t even had time to mourn, the Heir sending her in Margaret’s place the following week to finish the job. That place… it was evil. Missandei wished she could forget what she had seen. It had been three weeks since, but she still saw glimpses of those <em> things </em>at the corner of her eyes, a dreadful sense of wrongness. She now wondered if that’s how Meg had felt with her visions. She wished she could ask her, there was so much she wanted to know... Maybe one day, if they ever met again. Her stuff would be where she had left it.</p><p>As of now, she’d have to content herself with talking to Margaret’s crudely drawn portrait sat in her bed. The only resemblance were the eyes, Miss was surprised she remembered them so well. She wished she had noticed this earlier.</p><p>“Good night, Meg…” Missandei muttered as she drifted off, all alone in their shared room.</p>
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